Johnlock: Alternate Beginning: University Johnlock
by newtofanfics
Summary: An alternate story of how Sherlock and John met and their relationship from that moment on. Johnlock slash and/or smut ensues. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1: John the Doctor

**So this is my first fanfic ever, so go easy on me :) I would love any input you have! Tell me how to improve my stories and make them a better read, please! I am halfway through Chapter 3 already, so more is coming. Sherlock and John's relationship will eventually become a smutty one, so stick around :D**

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><p>John slowly walked his way home, all sorts of thoughts swimming through his head, each fighting for attention.<p>

"What have I don-Oh God… How am I going to tell them?"

John was just twenty. He graduated with good enough marks, but he didn't know what he wanted to do after high school, so had decided to take a year off. He had been graduated for almost two years now, sitting idle had never been in the plans, but he still had no idea what he wanted to do. He had seen a recruitment commercial on the telly for the military, so he went to the centre to get more information on what kind of people they were looking for. There was a program that caught his eye, one that would help him through medical school if he worked a number of years overseas as a army doctor.

_Brilliant! _

John always had an interest in Medical School but would never have been able to afford it. The idea of being a doctor in the middle of war scared John, but somehow the attraction of it ran deeper than the fear and awoke something in John that he hadn't felt before.

John had decided to keep his application a secret from his family, no need to worry them if nothing came of it. That changed one sunny afternoon, when his mobile started buzzing away impatiently on his desk.

He didn't recognize the number and answered questioningly, "Hello?"

The voice on the other end was that of a young, energetic woman, "John Watson?"  
>"Yes."<p>

"Hi! My name is Emmelia. I'm calling about your application to the Medical-Military program. "

"Ah, hi," John's nerves jumped with hope and anticipation.

"We've been looking over your application and school records and everything seems to be in order. We would love for you to join the program, if you are still interested."

"Ye-Yes, brilliant! I'm still very interested!" John replied rapidly. He was on a hormone high, his nerves were dancing. Strangely enough, he felt sick in a good way.

"Great! There are some forms to sign and information packages you'll have to pick up from the office. You'll also have to go to Queen's to sign up for a few first year courses to start some of the classes for the program. Do you have free time today?"

"Yes!" John didn't care if he had plans with Jeanette. He was so excited about his acceptance that he couldn't wait to get down to the centre and sign the forms.

"Perfect, I'll see you in a bit!"

John desperately wanted to share his news with someone, but he was home alone. Both his parents were at work and his sister, Harry, had just moved in with her girlfriend, Clara. He called Harry and she eagerly agreed to meet him at the centre.

John and Harry walked back to the Watson residence after filling out all the forms and making the registration official.

"How do you think Dad and Mum are going to take it?" John was worried. It's not that his parents were against the military, but they wouldn't want to see him go off.

"I'm really not sure, John," Harry replied distantly, lost in thought. "I can imagine that they won't be happy but more than anything else, they want to see you happy."

"Let's hope so."

The rest of their walk was in silence. They arrived as their father drove into the drive.

"Harry! Good to see you around the house again! Good to see you too, of course, John!" Hamish Watson greeted his children boisterously. They entered the house, and it was evident that Madeline Watson had also just gotten home from work. She greeted her children with equal enthusiasm, sweeping Harry up into a hug.

"Harriet, you need to come by the house more often, dear."

She gave her daughter a look, and she in turn replied with a sigh, "I know, Mum. It's not that I don't want to, things have just been busy. Clara and I are still trying to organize the flat."

"We miss you is all."

A small grumble emitted from Hamish's stomach, which cued the question, "Who wants Chinese?"

Sounds of approval were heard from all, so Hamish dialled their favourite Chinese restaurant.

Dinner arrived and they sat around the table, opening and passing different containers of delicious foreign foods until they all had full plates. John anxiously looked over at Harry who gave him an encouraging smile.

"I've got some news…" John blurted out, a little too fast and much too quiet.

"Sorry?" Hamish turned to his son.

"I-I've got some news."

John took a deep breath, aware that both his parents had stopped eating and were looking at him expectantly.

"I've signed up… I saw this one commercial… There's this program I heard about," John finished weakly.

"What kind of program?" Madeline looked at her son, unblinking.

"Well, it's to become a medical doctor."

"My son, become a doctor?" Hamish beamed proudly at the thought.

"How are you going to afford that, John?" Madeline was a bit more sceptical.

"There's a program… through the military…"John's sentence lost its way.

Hamish's face fell ever-so-slightly. Madeline's heart dropped.

"Don't say no just yet. They pay for my schooling, and I'll be taking courses at Queen's so I'll still be in town for at least a semester."

Madeline was the first to say anything. "And what do they want in return?"

"Five years as a army doctor overseas," John replied quietly.

Hamish shook his head and Madeline sighed.

"Oi! Give him a chance to explain. We Watson kids have a tendency of doing things our own way, and it always turns out fine. You don't _have _to accept or support us, but it helps if you do. Remember when I told you about Clara? Finding out that I was gay was difficult for you, I know it was. But look at where we are now! I've moved in with her and you love her like a second daughter!" Harry's outburst was unexpected and uninterrupted.

"You're right, dear. Thank you," Madeline replied, took a deep breath and faced John. "Tell us about this program."

John started off slowly, "Well, I'm tired of being stuck here, with no plans for the futu-"

"Joining the military and signing your life away to unknown places is not how you deal with your frustrations. You take a few first year courses at Queen's and see what you like and don't like, and go from there."

"But I want to be a doctor, and I have for a long time. When am I ever going to have an opportunity like this again?" John's gusto grew. "I've been sitting idle here for two years now, working in the same shop, doing nothing with my life. I could be a doctor! A _doctor_, Dad! I can be overseas, traveling through foreign countries! And I know that is a romanticized view of war, but think of the experiences that I will have that I can't have here!"

It was Madeline's turn to shake her head.

"What happens if you're hurt, John? Or killed? What will I do then? You're my only son," and with a small smile at Harry, "And it's not like I'll be inheriting a son-in-law anytime soon."

"I don't know what to say, Mum. I'd do my best to stay safe, of course. We don't even have to worry about that yet, I've got some courses at Queen's to do this fall first. This is what I _want_ to do."

Madeline looked at Hamish, pleading for help. Hamish couldn't do anything to ease his wife's pain, or his own. He turned towards his son, feeling more exhausted than he had in a long time.

"When do you have to register by, son?" Hamish asked quietly.

"I already have." John almost whispered.

The rest of the dinner was consumed slowly and in silence.


	2. Chapter 2: The Notorious Mr Holmes

**I had a lot of fun writing this chapter with the notorious smart-ass Mr Sherlock Holmes :P I love getting feedback of any kind and would really appreciate notes on how to improve! Thanks for reading!**

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><p>Summer had flown by and John's parents slowly began to accept his decision. Jeanette, John's on-and-off girlfriend, had flown off to Canada at the beginning of summer. He had called to tell her of his plans, to which she flat out disagreed. He informed her that there wasn't much she could do about it, but that he was excited to see her when she got back. John and Harry made sure to spend time together before school started up and their lives became too busy.<p>

September rolled around, bringing leaves lazily falling from their homes atop the trees. Amidst the sinking leaves were students, excited and bustling around, lost in their own worlds. John was no exception. He packed a pen and an extra just in case. He brought several pieces of paper, unsure if he'd be taking notes the first day or not. His first day of _university_!

He left the house with lots of time to get to school and find his classrooms. He didn't have money for a car, but rode around on a bike instead. Pulling up to the school, he looked amazed at how big the school seemed. Sure, it had been years since he had been at school, but this was a whole new level of intimidating. He locked his bike up outside and set his jaw as he walked inside.

_You can do this, John._

He marched into the school, the first of many battles to come.

He scanned along the walls, reading the printouts to find his name. He eventually found his name next to a few other Watsons. His first class was to be in room 2-147, one of his Biology classes. He found the classroom numbers for each of his other four classes and wrote them down. As he headed off to find his first class, he overheard a boy his age yelling at a woman. The boy, or maybe man is a better word, was tall with dark, curly hair. John couldn't see his face, but by the exaggerated hand motions that shook his long, black coat with each movement, John could see that he was mad.

"What is this _bullocks_?" The man said a little too loud, shoving his hands towards the classroom charts.

"An-and you're sure that your name isn't there?" The lady looked frightened of him. John couldn't blame her. The man was at least six feet tall, thin with very light skin and dressed from head to toe in dark apparel. It was mysterious, alluring and threatening at the same time.

"Ohhhh! My name! Is that what I was supposed to look for?" He sighed in mock-relief then stated coldly, "_Of course_ I looked for my name. It's Holmes. Sherlock Holmes. It's not like my name is lost in a sea of Smiths. It should be easy enough to locate, however it is not there which is why I've come to you for assistance. Fat lot of good that did me." He seemed to say it all without pausing for breath, the last sentence had lost most of its volume, but John just managed to catch it.

The woman looked completely flustered. "We can check the registration log on the computer…?"

"What a good idea," Sherlock replied sarcastically.

John watched them leave and walk towards the Administrations Office. He shook his head at this man- Sherlock- and his completely hostile composure. How could he be so heartless to someone he doesn't know.

John shook his head again, this time to clear it. He straightened out and headed to class.

He was early enough to have a variety of seats to choose from, and he sat close to the front. Slowly more and more students trickled in, followed by the teacher who arrived right on the hour.

"Hello class, I'm Professor Davis and I'll be teaching Biology 111, which is Human Anatomy and Physiology." Davis spoke blandly. John's professor was short, shorter than him in fact and was a little heavier than average with greying hair.

"We'll start with an outline of the course and go over what you'll be learni-"

The doors flew open, revealing a grimacing Sherlock on the other side. His face quickly turned for the better, seemingly pleased that he had finally found the right classroom. He took a seat in one of the middle rows, completely unaffected that he had interrupted Davis. John wanted to laugh at Sherlock's utter ignorance of the world around him.

The rest of the class passed uneventfully, as did most classes for the next few weeks. As it turned out, Sherlock was in three of John's five classes, and Sherlock's complete lack of social talent never failed to surprise John. Sherlock would openly scoff in class at something a professor would say, then attempt to correct him before the teacher would inevitably say, "Do be quiet, Mr Holmes."

Once when he tried to correct Davis, he asked if Sherlock wanted to teach the class instead. Sherlock seemed a little taken aback, but agreed. As he stood to go to the front Davis looked at him coldly.

"Sit. Down. Mr Holmes."

It had almost become a game to John, watching and waiting for Sherlock to speak out. To be honest, Sherlock was probably the one of the only reasons he came to class. His frustrations toward Sherlock had turned into amusement. Soon John was able to predict when Sherlock would challenge the teachers, as if there was a pattern to it. There were certain subjects or areas of subjects that would rile him up.

Autumn had turned to winter, which had slowly rolled into spring. With each changing season, John's grades began to slip more and more as he spent most of his time anticipating Sherlock's actions instead of paying attention to the course material. Worried about his future as a doctor, John resolved to concentrate more in class, regardless of Sherlock's witty commentary.

The next class, a Chemistry course, which John and Sherlock had together, went by as usual. However, this time when Sherlock made a smart-ass comment, John ignored him and kept working. There were a few people who always seemed to appreciate Sherlock's remarks, and he knew exactly where each of them sat. Sherlock turned his head ever so slightly to see each of their reactions, not wanting to be seen appreciating their attention. A group of football players sat at the back, clearly bored because they had no need to learn Chemistry. Sherlock determined they only liked his comments because they resented the teacher for keeping them here. There were a few girls scattered around the centre of the room that appeared to be entertained by his observations, but Sherlock couldn't decide if they were really interested in his remarks or in Sherlock himself. Girls were very predictable, and he was a tall, slender young man with soft, dark curls and piercing blue eyes. And then there was the small young man who sat a few rows ahead of Sherlock, and a little to the left. He was the one Sherlock liked to see react to his comments. His sandy hair would shake slowly from side to side, and Sherlock always felt as though the young man was disapproving until one day he had turned around and made eye contact with Sherlock. His eyes sparkled with amusement and he had the smallest of smiles escaping. That image had stuck with Sherlock since, and with every remark he made, he was trying to get that man's attention. Sometimes he could see his shoulders shake, as if he was chuckling to himself, other times the man would turn around for a split second as if to congratulate his wit. This time, however, there was nothing. Not even a pause in his writing. Had Sherlock imagined it all?

When time was up, Sherlock left class quickly, put off by the lack of reaction he had received from the bloke sitting ahead of him. Once outside, he headed to his dorm, a short walk from the campus. A man a few inches shorter than him, dressed in a suit, walked up.

"Mr Holmes?"

"No," Sherlock responded swiftly as he kept walking.

"Mr Holmes, I'll need you to come with me."

Sherlock wasn't impressed by his false bravado. He could easily identify the waiver in his voice and see the nervous rubbing of the man's thumb against his index finger. Sherlock sighed. Regardless of being intimidated, he knew that the man would not give up. He sighed and followed the man back to a sleek, black car and climbed in.

Sherlock watched the passing scenery for a while, but grew bored. He knew this drive by heart, and he could determine their destination. They travelled for over an hour, far out into the country. Upon their arrival, he slowly emerged from the car to be greeted by a familiar face framed by carefully combed ginger hair. Beneath the oval face was a slender body dressed in a pin-stripe suit.

"Ahh, Sherlock. Good to see you."

"I wish I could say the same, Mycroft." Sherlock looked his brother up and down. "You've gained weight."

"It's these cases, Sherlock. They have me at my wit's end. I hate to admit it, but I could really use your help." Mycroft didn't want to lose his position of power to Sherlock, but that's how it always was with the Holmes boys. Mycroft was in charge, or so he was allowed to think, until he needed Sherlock's help.

"You know, you could just send me a text. I would have come. You don't have to abduct me from the university."

Mycroft gazed upon Sherlock with tired eyes. He wasn't up for an argument.

"Come on inside. I'll make you a cuppa and we'll go over the cases."

The Holmes brothers walked silently into the country house one after the other. Despite their differences, they only had each other.


	3. Chapter 3: Exchange Mobile Numbers

**Chapter 3 done :) Writing is so much fun! I should probably be studying for my exams... oh well! Anything you'd like to see happen in the story? Or is there anything I can do to improve it? Or if you just plain liked the story, send me some feedback :) it would be much appreciated! Thanks for reading!**

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><p>John was running late and entered the Biology lecture as quietly as possible. The first thing he noticed as he went to sit down was that Sherlock's seat was empty. Disappointment rolled around in John's stomach. <em>Well, it's probably best for the studies.<em>

The class passed smoothly and uninterrupted, as did many more that week. And it wasn't just Biology. It was all three of the classes John shared with Sherlock. Not once did John catch a glimpse of the dark coat and curly hair, nor did he hear the deep voice correcting someone condescendingly. School had become mundane in that week, the entertainment had gone.

The weekend wasn't much more exciting. John attempted to study, and failed. Jeanette had called. She had called _four_ times. When he finally called her, they bickered about something unimportant, and then decided to go out to a movie.

Monday finally rolled around and John headed to school, books unstudied and homework uncompleted.

He noticed as soon as he opened the door to the classroom. The mop of dark hair atop the broad, jacket covered shoulders was back, sitting in his usual place as if he'd never gone. John felt sick with excitement. He was so ready for school to be fun again, and Sherlock didn't miss a beat. Even having missed a week's worth of lectures, Sherlock was able to prove the professor wrong. Class ended too quickly for John, and he slowly packed to head to the library to kill the two hours he had between classes. He heard a throat clear behind him. John turned to find his face a few inches from Sherlock's chest. He looked up to meet Sherlock's eyes. Apparently Sherlock had no sense of personal space.

"Er, hello."

"Hi, my name is Sherlock. I unfortunately had to miss last week but I was wondering if you take notes? I think you're in my Biology class too, so I was hoping to kill two birds with one stone."

"Ah, yes. I've actually got notes for this class, Chemistry and Biology. We have all three together."

Sherlock was surprised. Surprised at how his stomach did a funny flip at the thought of John noticing him in all of the classes they shared. Sherlock had never been flustered before, and smiled inwardly in congratulations. John saw the smile. _Oh god, did he think I was trying to come onto him? It's not like he's the only student I recognize from my classes._ But that wasn't entirely true. John hadn't learned a single classmates name all semester, apart from Sherlock's. Between taking notes and trying not to giggle like a school girl at Sherlock's commentary, he had barely taken the time to notice other students. Thinking hard now, John tried to picture the girl that sat next to him in Chemistry. _Brown, I think she has brown hair. Or is it red?_

"Oh, of course!" Sherlock feigned ignorance. Sherlock knew they had all three courses together, but it made him happy, quite happy indeed, that John knew it too.

"I'm Sherlock, by the way."

"John. John Watson. I was just heading to the library to study, if you want to join me and copy the notes there?"

"Sure."

Sherlock followed John out the door into the hallway. John had looked so small in class sitting many rows ahead of him. Up close John was a completely different person. He wasn't quite as short as Sherlock expected him to be, but he was by no means tall. He was fit, but not overly toned. His eyes sparkled and his hair wasn't one colour, but many light and dark tones mixed against each other. The creases in his forehead were from recent stress, possibly the build-up of homework? His clothes were clean and had no significant creasing, which for a university student most likely meant that he still lived at home. Judging by the clothes he wore, Sherlock had three neighbourhoods in mind.

John hadn't been in speaking distance of Sherlock before, and admired his piercing blue eyes. He could have sworn they were grey last week. His curls were perfect and John wondered for a minute if he curled them himself and the thought almost made him chuckle. Sherlock's hair was a rich, deep brown, which contradicted his fair skin. His tall, willowy body was covered by the same long, black coat.

Their walk to the library had mostly been silent, both boys lost in thought.

John got out his notebooks and passed them to Sherlock. Sherlock started flipping through them, reading John's chicken scratch. John opened his textbooks, making an attempt to study but found his attention roaming, especially when Sherlock made small grunts, sighs and occasional chuckles at the notes. John had never been distracted by someone so much. Why did Sherlock fascinate him so much? It was like Sherlock was a whole new creature, one that John had never encountered before. He felt the need to learn everything about him. _This is absurd. Study, John! Study!_

Sherlock was aware that John wasn't concentrating on his homework, but kept reading. He let another chuckle escape.

"I'm sorry, is there something wrong with my notes?"

"Your notes, no. The professor's idea of teaching material? Yes."

"If you're so brilliant, why are you in university?" John had meant it to sound sarcastic, but it didn't quite come out that way, he sounded in awe of Sherlock than anything else. He mentally kicked himself.

"Because I need to prove my intelligence with a piece of paper if I want anyone to believe it. Otherwise they think it's some elaborate parlour trick, an illusion."

"Your ability to correct the professors of three different courses on a regular basis _is_ a bit unbelievable."

"That's the easy part. They have incorrect knowledge that should be rectified. The fun part is what comes from the knowledge. How I can see the world in terms of constants and variables, facts and possibilities. By perceiving the world around you in detail, _really_ looking at what surrounds you, the observations are endless."

"I'm not sure that I'm following, Sherlock."

"I can tell that you are in your early adulthood, either 20 or 21, your parents make a modest amount of money, and that they aren't paying for your education because of that. You still live with them, however. You rode a bike to school today; actually, that's your usual mode of transportation around town. You are currently unemployed, and you haven't paid for your schooling." Sherlock paused for a second to take in the flabbergasted look on John's face. He finished with the last deduction, a guess on his behalf, but by John's absolutely stunned reaction he knew he got it right. "And, you're in the Medical-Military program training to become an army doctor."

John just stared at Sherlock, utter disbelief on his face. Sherlock looked calm, as though he had just described the weather to John.

"Ho-How did you know all that?"

"Well your clothes indicate you live in one of three neighbourhoods in the Checkley area, so that gives away your parents income. Your clothes are also regularly unwrinkled, meaning you still live at home where your doting mother washes your clothes. On rainy days, your shirt has a tiny splatter trail going up the back from the bicycle wheel, just like you have right now." John pulled at his shirt incredulously. Sure enough, there was a faint mud pattern going up his back. Sherlock paused for only a second, watching John squirm, before continuing, "You spend a large amount of time _trying _to study. If you had a job, you'd be more focused on school to get the work done in the limited time. Because you're jobless, there's no way you could be paying off a student loan for school. Since neither you nor your parents are paying for school that means you are having assistance of some kind. The amount of books in your backpack warrant more than the three classes you share with me. I'd guess you're taking five." Sherlock stopped to take a breath in what seemed like the first time since he started talking. He finished his deductions triumphantly, "Since you're taking five courses, including Chemistry and two Biology classes, and the fact that you've got financial assistance of some sort, I took the leap and reasoned that you were in the Medical-Military program."

John sat, open mouthed, staring at Sherlock. Finally he gathered himself enough to form words.

"That's… incredible!"

Sherlock chuckled to himself; he didn't usually get that response. Actually, he never did. Even though he could see though John, John was able to surprise him. A feeling Sherlock had never felt before grew warm in his abdomen. Sherlock looked to John, who was looking at him, wide-eyed and open mouthed.

"No, really! That's bloody brilliant!"

"That is the power of observation, John." Sherlock continued to watch John, whose eyes were roaming his face, looking for the key to his wisdom. John looked so innocent and naïve. It made Sherlock want to protect him.

John slowly gained control of his emotions. Sherlock had already turned back to his notes, copying them out in his long, scrolling handwriting. They spoke very little after Sherlock's outburst. The two hours passed quickly and John had almost forgotten about his next class.

"I haven't quite finished with the notes yet," Sherlock pointed towards the many pages of notes he still had to copy out. "Do you want to exchange mobile numbers? We can arrange a time that you can do homework while I copy the rest of these. And I can help you on questions that you get stuck on while we're together."

"Sure," John got out his mobile and punched in the number Sherlock dictated to him, and then gave Sherlock his own number.

John rushed off to class, hoping that he wouldn't be late. Sherlock stayed in the library for a while after John had left, then started to pack. As he packed the notes he'd been copying for the last two hours, he scrunched up the last four pages and tossed them in the nearest bin. More to copy later when he was with John again, and he might as well milk that note copying time for all it's worth. Sherlock slowly ambled up to his dorm room. A speckled blonde kept running through his head. He wasn't dense, he knew who it was. But why? _Why_ was John running circles in his mind?


	4. Chapter 4: Sherlock's Bedroom

**Hey guise! So I wrote another chapter (yay!) and it became so long that I had to cut it off, so Chapter 5: The Party (title still in the works :P) has been started! I have _tons_ of school work to catch up on, followed by exams -_- but April 21st is my first day of freedom! I will be publishing a chapter once a week after that :)**** Feedback, as always, is greatly appreciated. **

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><p>Sherlock woke with a start as one of his roommates slammed the common room door, his dream coming to a dead halt. Blinking away the grogginess from his mind, Sherlock turned to check the time. <em>12 pm… 12 pm? Bloody hell! <em>When he did sleep, Sherlock never slept for more hours than he could count on one hand. As he moved to turn over, he became vastly aware of the stiffness between his legs. He cursed its presence, hating his body for being so _human_. Sherlock hadn't had a proper hard-on since puberty, and the throbbing one he was sporting now put the others to shame. He closed his eyes, hoping to analyse it away. But as soon as his eyes shut, his dream from the night before engulfed him. Sherlock lay there for a few minutes, lost in the dream world that had been his reality all night. John. It was all John. Sherlock was straddling John, their mouths moving against each other, needy for more. Time had no meaning in last night's dream and they were both shirtless now, John atop Sherlock. The kisses had become deeper and more meaningful. John moved his hands down Sherlock's chest toward his trous-

Sherlock felt a hot sensation flood down to his already rigid erection. Sherlock flashed his eyes open, forcing his mind to leave the fantasy inside his head. Sherlock grasped for any thought that would distract him. _School. Classes I should have gone to this morning. I think I missed two so far. John can give me the notes. John._ Sherlock's pupils dilated and his heart beat took off. A second realization hit Sherlock. He had missed both classes with John today. He had no excuse to see him. His stomach sank, sick with regret and disappointment. _John._

When Sherlock was sure his roommates had left the dorm, he crept into the bathroom and had a long, very cold shower. His body so badly wanted him to give in and pay proper attention to his erection, but Sherlock was determined to be above human urges.

Sherlock dressed and got ready for his last class, but there was no motivation to go to a class knowing John Watson wasn't in it. As he headed out into the common room, passing the dorm's tiny kitchen, Sherlock's stomach made a small moan, asking to be fed. Sleeping for hours, his first hard-on in years and now craving food? _John Watson, what are you doing to my body?_

Sherlock went to his class but was off his usual game. He didn't interrupt or correct the teacher once. He didn't challenge any of his classmate's ideas or make them feel stupid for their idiotic questions. Sherlock felt strange on a full night's sleep. He wasn't on his toes. He felt dazed and out of touch_. Is this how normal people feel when they've had too little sleep?_

Class ended eventually and as Sherlock left, the thought dawned on him that he had exchanged mobile numbers with John under the pretence that he needed to copy out the notes. _I can't believe he bought that. _Sherlock grinned at his renewed hope in seeing John.

**Missed two more classes and I need the notes. Meet me in the library at 7pm. –SH**

Sherlock waited for a reply. It didn't come. He paced impatiently for what seemed like hours. John finally texted back at 6:30 and Sherlock quickly retrieved his phone to read the message.

**I'm having supper with my girlfriend and family tonight. I'll be free after 9. -JW**

Sherlock grumbled. Who needs a girlfriend or family? They're such a waste of time.

**The library will be closed by then. Meet at my dorm? Room 472 –SH**

Sherlock's heartbeat quickened at the thought of John _here,_ in _his_ room.

**Sure. See you at 9:30. –JW**

Sherlock wanted to rejoice. He paced the room a few times, unsure of what his emotions were doing. His mobile beeped with another text alert. _Has John changed his mind already?_ Sherlock rushed over to the phone and eagerly checked the new text. It was from Mycroft, asking for assistance on another case. He had sent some details by text, enough to spike Sherlock's interest.

**Any ideas? –MH**

**Nine so far. I need more facts to narrow it down. Email me more information and crime scene photos. –SH**

**I'm going to put you in touch with Lestrade, an Inspector at Scotland Yard. He'll have the information you're looking for. –MH**

Another text came through before Sherlock could reply to the last one.

**Please don't make me regret this. –MH**

Sherlock ignored the last message and asked for Lestrade's number. He texted Lestrade right away, giving a quick introduction of who he was then preceded to ask for crime scene pictures. If Lestrade was half as stupid as Sherlock expected him to be, Sherlock wouldn't be receiving any information until tomorrow. He tossed his mobile on the bed and fell down beside it. He lay on his back and closed his eyes, retreating to his mind palace. Sherlock analysed the facts he already had regarding the case, making sure he didn't miss anything. Somehow in the five minutes he lay there, two and a half hours had passed. He heard a sharp knock on his door, and recognized the voice of Ian, one of his roommates.

"Oi, someone is here to see you."

Sherlock got up quickly, and swung the door open a little too eagerly. There was John, just John, as Ian's figure faded down the hall way. John was looking flushed from his bike ride here, and Sherlock's stomach did a little twist.

"Uh, hello," John finally spoke, breaking the awkward silence.

"Hi, come on in." Sherlock opened the door more to allow room for John to enter.

"I would say we could study out in the common room, but my roommates are out there playing video games." Sherlock indicated for John to sit at the desk. John nodded, sat down and proceeded to take out his notebooks.

"Yea, I saw them on the way in."

"Right… of course. Well, study time?" Sherlock studied John. It was almost finals time, and the stress of it was evident on John's brow. Sherlock wished there was something he could do to help. _Almost finals time? Has it really taken me almost an entire school year to get John Watson into my bedroom?_ Sherlock chuckled to himself_. And we're strangers studying together, nothing more. Emotions are much more complicated than I ever thought they would be._

Sherlock opened the notes that John passed him, and sat on his bed opposite the desk. He half-heartedly copied out the notes and looked up to find John's face empty, staring off into space. His knuckles were white with tension as they gripped the pencil with frustration, Sherlock figured. Frustration, possibly at the assignment?

John had given up on the ridiculous homework. _Really, when I am ever going to need to know the structure of an atom while saving the life of a gun-shot victim? _John had zoned out, finally taking notice of Sherlock's room. It was greatly unorganized, piles of… knick knacks were everywhere, and John was pretty sure he spotted a human skull on one shelf. Mountains of newspaper clippings, pictures and handwritten notes had overcome the room, and left space for the few clothes that were tossed in one corner. John continued to visually investigate Sherlock's room, scanning until his eyes made it to Sherlock's bed. It was unmade and large, taking up a good part of Sherlock's small dorm room. He then noticed that Sherlock was watching him from the bed, his penetrating blue eyes staring right at him. John quickly dropped his gaze, blushing at the thought of Sherlock noticing that John had spaced out while watching him atop the bed. A flood of hormones had accompanied the blush, and John felt shaky with… _with what? _Anxiety? Excitement? _Lust?_

Sherlock could almost read John's inner monologue like a book. Before John could get too worked up and freak himself out, Sherlock interrupted his mental battle, "Are you having difficulty with the homework?"

John snapped out of his trance at the sound of Sherlock's voice and took a second to process what he had heard.

"Uh, yea, I can't get this stupid Chemistry."

Sherlock got up and stood beside John, leaning over his shoulder. John caught the faintest scent as Sherlock displaced the air around him. It was wonderfully musky and dark. John couldn't describe the scent; it was unfamiliar but comfortable at the same time. John hadn't expected him to smell so good, and inhaled deeply as a reflex, but the aroma had faded as quickly as it had appeared. He felt engulfed by the sheer height of Sherlock that he could see towering over his shoulder and felt like a small child being protected, but from what he didn't know. John's nerves were on end, and he could easily have turned his head and been face to face with Sherlock, looking into his sharp blue eyes. Deciding against it, he kept his eyes fixed on the Chemistry that Sherlock was trying to explain.

Having John so close excited Sherlock. John was so much smaller sitting in the chair at the desk, and Sherlock felt so powerful standing over his shoulder, able to shield John from all the bad things in the world. Sherlock unconsciously moved in closer, trying to explain some of the Chemistry to John but almost forgot what in the world he was talking about. He struggled to maintain basic thought being that close to him. They stayed like that for hours, Sherlock hovering above John, his deep voice dictating the facts. John finally mentioned the time, saying that he had to go. Sherlock wanted to argue, but agreed. John packed his things and quietly said goodnight as he padded down the hallway, careful not to wake any of Sherlock's roommates.

Sherlock and John continued to have study sessions over the next few weeks leading up to their final exams. They studied mostly in the library during the spring while the grass was still damp. When the warmer weather moved in, they were able to study outside. They studied, but would also talk. Talk about John's life, his girlfriend Jeanette and his future as a doctor. Sherlock spilled a little about his life, mentioning a "Mycroft" who asked him to assist a different man named Lestrade on some high profile cases. By the tone he used, John never dared to ask about who this Mycroft character was, despite being vastly curious. As they talked and studied, they became unexpected friends, two very different people who could more than tolerate each other's company. Sherlock had never had a friend before and found the overall experience rather pleasant, even if John was a little slow at times. Sherlock had memorized John's tanned face, from the wrinkles around his eyes, to the colour of his lips. Sherlock knew John, caring and loyal John. He occasionally envied John's ability to embrace his emotions so passionately, but most of the time he was just thankful to have such a trustworthy friend.

John on the other hand, learned to roll with the punches. He had previously known of Sherlock's utter lack of social knowledge, but found it to be worse that he had originally thought. Patience was a big factor of Sherlock and John's friendship, and John eventually understood that Sherlock lacked the ability to grasp most concepts of emotion, like sentiment or fear. Normal people slowly became boring for John, and he craved the intelligence and strange ways of Sherlock every time they were apart. John missed his striking eyes and quick tongue, the way his curly brown hair went red in the sun, but mostly his mind, his ever-so-clever mind. The mind that could deduce people down to their cigarette preference with a single look. The same mind that was ignorant of emotion, but inhabited by some remnant of sensitivity at the same. John couldn't make heads or tails of it, and was intrigued beyond belief.


	5. Chapter 5: The Party

**Haha, I know I'm cruel but this chapter was getting far too long, so I had to cut it off. And I know I keep saying this, so hopefully I'll take it to heart sooner or later… I have exams that I need to study for! Sherlock and John, GET OUT OF MY HEAD FOR THE NEXT THREE WEEKS AND LET ME STUDY! I'm going to try my best to study, but you guys might get a chapter or two before my exams are over. We'll see how badly my procrastination gets :P Thank you for reading this far, I really appreciate your interest. Reviews are very encouraging and I love receiving them!**

**I (sort of) have the next four to five chapters mapped out, but if there's something you would like to see in the story, send me a PM and I'll do my best to fit it in if it works with my story!**

**Also, I'm super sleep deprived and I haven't reread this chapter or edited it yet. Will hopefully have time to do that tomorrow. Once I do, I will remove this note. However, if you see something that isn't right, or doesn't make sense, please let me know! :D  
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><p>Exams soon arrived and the stress level elevated tenfold for John.<p>

"John, don't worry about it. Stressing out will only make your mark worse." Sherlock looked down at John. He wanted so badly to lean in and kiss the worry away. Sherlock wasn't good at self-restraint, and his resolution was wearing thin, _very_ thin.

"Oh, thanks, Sherlock. _Very_ helpful. I feel so reassured now." John knew Sherlock didn't catch the sarcasm, and that Sherlock had only meant to encourage him with his peculiar words. He looked up into Sherlock's eyes, getting lost in them for the millionth time, until Sherlock turned away focusing on something, anything in the room that could distract him. John wished he could enter Sherlock's mind, just for a moment so he could better understand his struggles. It pained John to think how empty and alone Sherlock's life could be, abandoned by his emotions. He was left there trying to find a place in the world that would accept him for who he was. John wanted to be that place, be there for Sherlock. He wanted to fight anyone who tried to discourage Sherlock, he wanted to… _love_ Sherlock.

_Love? _John had never used that word in reference to anyone outside of family._ Love. I can't love Sherlock, I'm in a relationship with Jeanette. Anyways, I'm not gay. We're just really good friends. _John nodded his head in mental agreement, and turned to look up at Sherlock. He was zoned out, subtly moving his hands in thought. _He's not interested in me anyways, he's not interested in anyone. But that doesn't matter because I don't like boys, I like Jeanette and that's who I'm with._

The argument sounded weak, even in his mind. But John couldn't be gay. The thought overwhelmed and scared him. He was straight. He was with Jeanette. He liked Jeanette. Those three thoughts are the only thing that kept images of Sherlock from entering his mind. Even if he was gay – which he wasn't – how could John even begin to tell Sherlock that he fancies him? _Hah, fancies. Nobody fancies Sherlock. It was an all or nothing thing with Sherlock. You couldn't be sort-of, but not completely, sure that you may or may-not have a crush on him. You do, or you don't. And what happens if he doesn't reciprocate my feelings? Sherlock wouldn't want to see me after a confession like that. Even worse, what if he does and becomes bored of me? I couldn't survive without him. And what of Jeanette? If I ever confessed to something like that, we'd be over for sure. _John paused_. What on earth am I thinking about? Admitting homosexual feelings _– _that I don't have _– _to Sherlock? Wow, do I need to get laid. Maybe I'll call Jeanette tonight and apologize for whatever it is that I've done wrong now. Maybe she'll let me stay the night. _

John sat next to Sherlock, who was still deep in thought, until Sherlock finally came out of his state.

"Want to do a little more studying before the final?" Sherlock looked around his dorm room and spotted the bed. _If not, there are other things we can do…_

"Every bit helps, I guess."

They opened up their bags and took out their notebooks. Sherlock sat close to John, as they had been for the past few weeks after their first study session together. He would occasionally lean over closer to John, to put an emphasis on certain details or to point out important concepts. There was almost nothing that Sherlock wouldn't do to put his arm around John when he did that, longing to pull him in for a deep snog. But John was with Jeanette, he was called for. Sherlock shouldn't care, but he couldn't lose his only friend. Occasionally, he thought he saw something in John's face that desired physicality, but it would pass as quickly as it had appeared.

As John worked on a question, Sherlock pulled away just far enough that he could admire him. His multi-coloured, sandy hair was a bit out of place, and his face was scrunched up in concentration. He was wearing a striped jumper and beige trousers that had become wrinkled from sitting at the desk. _He looks perfect._ His arm moved in short, rapid movements with each pencil stroke creating John's signature chicken scratch. Sherlock moved back in once John finished the question. The air around John smelled of him, a rich, smooth smell. Nothing over-powering but completely intoxicating to Sherlock. _God, I want him._

Sherlock watched John for the rest of the night, consumed with lust. He tried his best to explain the homework through his foggy brain, but was failing horribly.

John figured that Sherlock was tired, so he bid Sherlock goodnight and left. Sherlock paced his room, his mind still muddled by desire. He paced that way for most of the night. He knew that if he should fall asleep, his innermost dreams would come true and he wasn't going to give into any of _those_ bodily urges. His crotch had been tingling all evening with John there, and Sherlock wasn't going to give in to it.

He checked his computer again. There was a new message from Lestrade, more cases to be solved. They had been corresponding for the last few weeks, and Sherlock had met him in person a few times. He was too young for his position, but he was doing the best he could. And best, by definition, was consulting Sherlock. Sherlock half-heartedly replied to Lestrade's email, then put a jacket on and went for a walk for lack of anything better to do.

At around 6 am, Sherlock received a text. He pulled his mobile out of his pocket as quickly as possible, hoping it was John.

**I haven't heard from you since I gave you Lestrade's name. And believe it or not, Sherlock, I do care how you are. –MH**

Sherlock didn't bother to reply, he could have sworn that they had an unwritten rule to only text in emergency situations or when Mycroft needed help with a case. Sherlock put his phone back into his coat and continued to walk slowly, lost in thought. Another text alert caught his attention.

**Sherlock, where are you? The exam is starting in 15 minutes! –JW**

Sherlock checked the time, it was 8:45 am. He slowly headed back towards the school, exams were the last thing on his mind. At 8:55 am, he was nearing the school. He received another text.

**Sherlock, at least let me know if you're alive. I'll hold you a seat if you are. –JW**

Sherlock made it to the school with a minute to spare and entered the examination room. He spotted John immediately who was sitting next to an empty desk looking worried. As soon as John saw Sherlock, his anxiety turned to anger.

"Why didn't you let me know if you were coming?"

"My mobile died." Sherlock didn't have to lie, but it was easier than explaining that he was too lost in thought – thinking of John – to type properly on the tiny keyboard.

John looked disbelieving at Sherlock and opened his mouth to say something. Luckily for Sherlock, the professor came into the room at that moment and addressed the class. Sherlock smiled and shrugged at John and received an icy glare in return.

The exam went by slowly for Sherlock and far too quickly for John. A pattern of last-minute cram sessions followed by long tests occurred all week until they had each finished all five exams.

The campus that Friday night was alive. Students flooded the dorms with alcohol and music. Each dorm that wanted to participate in the party would leave the door from the outer hallway to their common room open. Anyone could enter and the party was different in each room. Some common rooms had beer pong, others had pizza and movies, and others had stoners watching strange Youtube videos labelled "Watch While You're High." John had slowly meandered from room to room, checking out each party. The rooms with free booze were easy to spot by the number of people in them and the intoxicated people crashing on the floor wherever there was room.

John found his way to Sherlock's dorm, and its door was open. Inside there were Sherlock's roommates, all gaming on the Playstation 3. A few boys John didn't recognize had joined as well. There was one girl sitting amongst the boys, just as into the game as the guys were. And from their shouts, she was slaughtering them.

John made his way to Sherlock's room at the end of the hall. He knocked twice and entered when he heard the familiar, deep voice say, "Come in."

"Wanna go check out some of the parties?" John studied Sherlock who was sitting, perching more like, in the centre of his bed with his hands drawn together in front of his face.

Sherlock's mop of dark curls moved back as Sherlock looked up at John.

"What good will that do?" Sherlock had no interest in surrounding himself with drunken buffoons.

"Consider it a social experiment," John replied with a coy smile, and Sherlock almost melted. He tried his best to gain composure before he retorted, "I suppose, if _that_ is something you find fun."

John didn't even mind Sherlock's snap, he was just excited to go out and drink, and glad that he would have Sherlock there with him. Together they left – one excited and one bored. They started down a hall that John hadn't been down yet, but the parties weren't vastly different from the ones he'd already seen. They found a room that was busy, but not too full. A girl welcomed them in and explained the 'Room Rules' to them. Apparently, to stay in their room you have to take part in a beer chugging contest. After chugging two pints, you're allowed to stay as long as you want. John looked at Sherlock, silently asking him if he wanted to take part. Sherlock shook his head. John flashed him a teasing smile.

"You only live once, Sherlock. Annnd, I bet I can take you down."

Sherlock wanted to point out that John drank often enough that his body was somewhat accustomed to alcohol, so he would most likely win on that basis alone.

Instead, Sherlock agreed to his dare.

They walked up to the table with all the pints, grabbing one cup in each hand.

John looked at Sherlock. "Ready?"

Sherlock nodded. "Set."

Together they yelled, "GO!" and started chugging as quickly as possible.

The harsh taste of alcohol burned down Sherlock's throat. _Why do people do this on a regular basis? _John however found his first taste of beer to be refreshing after the tedious exam period. They surprisingly finished their first glass around the same time, John a little ahead. They paused for a second to stare each other down, competition heavy in their blood. They both took off on their second glass, small streams flowing down each chin from around the cup. Sherlock took one last glance at John and finished his cup, setting it harshly down on the table. Only when he finished did he realize that the room was watching them drink and were shouting, "CHUG, CHUG, CHUG!"

John looked at Sherlock in amazement. "Yo-You beat me! I'm impressed, Sherlock. Really impressed!"

Sherlock grinned, and when he did he noticed that his face felt funny. He blinked to clear his head and the blink felt as though it lasted for minutes instead of seconds. He felt light headed but _oh, so good_. The constant ramblings of his brain had finally slowed down, allowing him to rest from the incessant noise. He turned to look at John, and his vision took a while to catch up with his head. _Oh God, John looks so good. His eyes are on fire, if fire could be blue. His face is flushed. He seems to shine from the light around him. His lips look so soft… I wonder if the room will stop spinning if I'm locked onto John, my lips against his..?_

Sherlock started to lean in and lost his balance. John caught him, explaining to the laughing crowd that this was probably his first drink. He pulled Sherlock over to a nearby couch and sat him down.

"Are you okay, Sherlock?" John had completely sobered up, looked worriedly at his friend.

"Shwell," Sherlock slurred, his head bobbed as he turned to look at John.

"Haha, why don't we take a stroll and walk it off?" John didn't wait for Sherlock's reply. He picked him up, man-handled is probably a better word, for Sherlock was much heavier than John expected. He finally got one of Sherlock's arms around his shoulders and tried to lift.

"Sherlock, you need to help! Stand up when I try to lift you!" John's face was contorted in effort and he was grunting at the attempt.

"Ohhhhhhh, riiiighhhht." Sherlock tried to lift his body but slumped over. John was there to prevent the fall. They tried twice more before they got Sherlock on his own two feet. They began walking, slowly to prevent any falls. They walked the halls for 10 or so minutes, and in that time, Sherlock's head began to clear. He was by no means sober, but his body had finally dealt with the flux of alcohol he had chugged. Sherlock played up his drunkenness for a while so he was able to keep his arm around John. John was starting to tire under the weight of Sherlock and the influence of two chugged pints. Sherlock regretfully retrieved his arm from John's shoulder. They continued down the hall until they found another open door. People in here were taking shots.  
>"Let's try some," Sherlock suggested questioningly to John.<p>

"Are you sure you're okay to drink more?" John looked at Sherlock who had, in all fairness, regained his ability to stand and talk.

The residents of this room charged for shots, but Sherlock didn't mind paying. He ordered two of a variety of shots: jello, rocky mountain bear fucker, tequila, bottle cap, and skittles. As each flavour came, Sherlock and John would count to three and shoot them. Sherlock felt fantastic when the shots were done, however the alcohol shifted throughout his body as soon as he stood up. It hit him hard, making him sick but extremely relaxed at the same time.

John had a similar experience, feeling the alcohol's full effect upon standing up. He looked at Sherlock to see how he was doing, and his drunken brain reeled at the sight. Sherlock was dishevelled and completely perfect. His hair was everywhere, curls sticking any way they could. His coat arm was wrinkled from being around John's shoulder. His face was no longer his normal pale tone, but a pinkish shade that suited him perfectly. His lips were bright red and his eyes were glossy. John could feel himself starting to get hot and bothered. _Not here. Bloody hell, Sherlock shouldn't be allowed to look like that._


	6. Chapter 6: Hard Ons and Hangovers

**Here it is! Smutty chapter, and there will be more to come! Now that this is out of my head and on paper, I can hopefully study! I'll start writing after April 20th which is when my exams finish. I promise I will return with another chapter shortly after that date! :) Enjoy!** _Still needs to be edited. Once that's done, this message will disappear. **If you see anything that could be approved upon, please let me know! Thanks!**_

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><p>John and Sherlock headed back to Sherlock's dorm room. It took them twice as long as it should have as them stumbled their way down the hall. It took a few tries to get the common room unlocked, and they celebrated when they finally did. Sherlock and John made it to Sherlock's room and had to unlock that door as well. Sherlock cursed fervently at the lock. John's head was pounding to two beats as both of Sherlock's neighbours still had their music blaring. John started to pack his things, wanting to go home and sleep in his quiet room. Sherlock tripped his way over to John, putting his hand on John's arm when he did.<p>

"You shhhhould 'tay the night. You'd 'ave to bike home if you lefffft now."

John sobered a little at the thought of spending a night with Sherlock. He looked Sherlock in the eye.

"Where would I sleep?"  
>"I've got this biiiiiiig bed, we can share it." Sherlock made a lopsided attempt at pointing to the bed.<p>

John hadn't broken eye contact with Sherlock, and Sherlock could see all of the signs of arousal pass over John's face. Voice thick with emotion, John replied, "If you're sure…"

Sherlock was surprised. He wanted to laugh with joy. _John Watson, aroused at the thought of sharing a bed with me? _Sherlock stepped forward experimentally, entering John's immediate area. He looked down at John who was still staring up at him. He heard John's breath catch then speed up. They stood there for a while, just standing, lost in each other's eyes and questioning the other's lust. It was John's turn to take a step closer, their bodies were practically touching now. John was surprised that Sherlock hadn't turned away. Instead of leaving, Sherlock's lips made the tentative journey across the space between them to meet John's. John froze for a second, unable to believe this was really happening. He returned Sherlock's light kiss, slowly pulling his entire body nearer to Sherlock's until it felt as though they were touching from lips down.

The kiss became faster, more hunger and desire fuelling it. John let out a small moan when Sherlock's tongue entered his mouth. He lifted his hands to Sherlock's hair, weaving the dark curls through his fingers. John pulled Sherlock's head closer to his, sure that he was making their lips bruise in the process, but he just _needed_ to be closer to Sherlock. He'd been so afraid of these feelings for Sherlock, and now he couldn't deny them, he didn't want to.

Sherlock was the one who pulled away first, evaluating John's red, swollen lips and lustful eyes. He could feel himself getting hard, and this time he knew he was going to be giving into all of his human urges. John didn't let him stay away for long, quickly pulling him back into another urgent kiss. Their tongues fought for dominance, their hips began to grind together in rapid thrusts. Sherlock knew he was completely hard now, and could feel that John was hard too. Just the thought that he was responsible for John's erection made him close to climaxing. _Fuck. I want John. I need John._

John stumbled as he tried to shove Sherlock onto the bed. _Doing this drunk probably isn't a good idea, but God, I want him so bad. _Sherlock was lying on his back with John straddled over him. John looked down at Sherlock, finally breaking the silence that accompanied their kiss.

"The things I'm going to do to you…" John almost panted out the words, not wanting to waste oxygen on talking. He leaned down and touched Sherlock's lips with his own, just brushing them, forcing Sherlock to tilt his head up to meet him. As soon as Sherlock's head was back, John moved his lips down to Sherlock's exposed neck, giving little sucks and nips as he went down it. Sherlock's groans excited John beyond anything he'd ever felt. John slowly undid Sherlock's buttons, giving his chest a light kiss after each one. Once he had the shirt undone, John moved his mouth to Sherlock's nipples, bushing them with his tongue and biting softly. As he did this, Sherlock had moved his hand onto John's bulging crotch, rubbing it at first, then clenching and releasing it at the same time as John's bites. John moaned loudly into Sherlock's chest. John moved his mouth down Sherlock's torso, leaving a trail of saliva behind. He lifted his head off Sherlock's stomach and blew lightly on the line, and Sherlock felt the saliva go from warm to ice cold, sending sharp tingles down from his spine. Sherlock's skin broke out in goose-bumps. John smiled down at them, lightly brushing them with his fingertips, then tentatively added a little bit of nail. Sherlock jolted as John's nails slid their way down the centre of his stomach to his belt.

John started to undo the belt slowly, taking his time. He undid Sherlock's trousers equally slowly until he heard Sherlock choke out the words, "Oh _GOD_, John! _PLEASE!_"

John paused with the overwhelming desire flooding through his body, frozen with lust. He had Sherlock Holmes _begging _for him.

Sherlock took the opportunity of John's hesitation to take control. In one swift movement, Sherlock flipped John so that he was now calling the shots. Sherlock eagerly ripped open John's shirt. He didn't care if his method was impatient, he knew he wanted John, right here, right now and he couldn't wait. With an animalistic growl, he forced his mouth onto John's, invading it with his tongue. Sherlock's hands were everywhere, using John's tricks against him. With slow and precise lines, Sherlock skimmed his nails down John's exposed chest. John gave a low groan into Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock hastily undid John's trousers. Sherlock looked at John's cock straining against his pants, and lightly traced the bulge with his fingers. John hissed but lifted his hips at the touch.

Sherlock's impatience had waned now that he was so close to what he'd been waiting for. He slowly pulled down John's pants to reveal his boner, wet with pre-cum. Sherlock was thankful for his self-control, otherwise he would have climaxed right then and there. He touched John's erection from base to tip, making John take in a sharp breath. Sherlock smiled at John then slowly lowered his mouth on the tip, not letting it completely enter his mouth. He flicked the head with his tongue, playing with it until a moan erupted from John that sent a searing hot flow of desire to Sherlock's groin.

Sherlock allowed more of John into his mouth, bobbing his head over and over. He placed his hand at the base of the shaft and pumped while he sucked.

"_Fuuccccck_, Sherlock!"

John was just about to climax, and Sherlock released him from his mouth. He blew air softly onto John's wet cock, which sent John into a spasm, right on the edge of coming.

John roughly pulled Sherlock back up so that they were face to face. He pulled down Sherlock's pants, exposing his erection. He pulled Sherlock down onto him, their mouths crushing together, their boners rubbing one another with each push of their hips.

They kissed that way, naked and touching as much of each other as possible, skin prickling and burning where they met. Their hips thrust in no particular order, but they created a rhythm holding onto each other for support. John forced Sherlock over, taking control again. He slowly kissed his way down from Sherlock's lips to his weeping erection. Using his tongue, John traced it from base to tip, then spread his mouth around it and went down. Sherlock emitted sounds that didn't resemble human. John went faster, using his hands to aid this mouth in pleasuring Sherlock, and by the moans produced by Sherlock's squirming body, it was working. John grabbed Sherlock's hips to hold them still, putting himself in charge of when Sherlock could thrust. When Sherlock tried anyway, John dug his nails into the soft flesh, causing Sherlock to yell out in pain and pleasure, no line separated the two anymore.

"Oh _fuck,_ John. Fuck. Oh God, _oh God_. _FUCK_!"

Sherlock thrust one more time, and received the punishment. As John dug his nails into Sherlock's shuddering hips, Sherlock came and a salty explosion entered John's mouth. He continued to suck through Sherlock's convulsions and moans until his hips came to a stop on the bed.

Sherlock pulled John somewhat clumsily over to him. He kissed John deeply and passionately before leaning over John's erection. He teased with his tongue, which forced some unearthly noises from John.

"Oh, Sherlock… Oh! Yes! Sher…lock!" John's hips were moving as quickly as possible, he was so close. Sherlock clasped the base of John's cock and started to pull as he sucked. John cried out and came, rushing hot fluid into Sherlock's mouth. John spasmed for another minute before Sherlock released him. They kissed again, soft and deep. Sherlock was speechless for once in his life, his head was heavy from the alcohol, complete post-ejaculation bliss and overwhelming need for sleep. John was equally peaceful and their kiss became sloppy as they slowly fell asleep.

.:|:.

John was the first to wake, finding himself in Sherlock's room. He could feel Sherlock's body heat behind him. John suddenly became anxious. _What if he doesn't remember? Or worse, what if he remembers and thinks it was a drunken mistake?_ John turned to look at Sherlock, and as he turned he became very aware of a pounding hangover headache. He cursed silently but was able to turn without waking Sherlock. He admired the sleeping man in front of him, dark curls everywhere, and the most peaceful face John had ever seen on Sherlock. John tentatively reached out and moved a curl that was hanging down into Sherlock's eye. His eyelid flinched at the light touch, but he didn't rouse. John fell back asleep, watching _his_ placid Sherlock.

When John awoke again, Sherlock was sitting in bed next to him. Sherlock turned and smiled at him.

"Good morning."

"Morning." John felt awkward. He didn't know what to say to Sherlock, so worried that he might reject him. "… So… last night?"

"I remember getting drunk, what happened after that?" Sherlock looked questioningly at John.

_Oh God. He doesn't remember._ John looked at Sherlock, blushing a deep red.

"Well, we got quite drunk… Then we…" John couldn't finish his sentence.

Sherlock laughed out loud.

"John, of _course _I remember last night. But even if I didn't, please give me a little credit. I _did_ wake up _naked_ next to you. A monkey could put two and two together in this case."

Relief flooded down John's body, followed by anger.

"You git! Don't pull that bullocks on me!" His anger only made Sherlock laugh harder, and John eventually started to laugh too. John became serious again.

"So you… You don't regret last night, right?"

"John, can we skip the whole 'embarrassed and regretful' bit? Because I feel that you need to hear it, I will tell you that I've been wanting that for almost a year now, and it was better than I imagined it was going to be."

John was speechless with shock, but quickly made up for it.

"You've been wanting that for a year? Why didn't you say anything?"

"What was I supposed to say, 'Hi, John. My name is Sherlock and I know we've just met but I really want to shag you?' Come on, John, don't be naïve. And as soon as I got to know you, I found out about Jeanette, so I figured you wouldn't be interested. But we know about each other's feelings now, so it's all okay."

"No, it's not! It's not okay! You can't _casually_ tell me that _you've_ wanted _that_ since you met me! Do you kno-"

Sherlock leaned in and cut John off with a kiss. John felt his resolve slipping and finally returned the kiss, moving closer to Sherlock. It felt strange to be so intimate with Sherlock so quickly, but it also felt good. Good and right. John pulled him closer, _I'll never let you go_ he promised.


	7. Chapter 7: The Shower

**Sorry it took so long to upload this, and that it's a little shorter than usual! I broke my laptop - sounds weak, I know, but it's true! It's fixed now and I'm back writing! :) Heads up, I'm going traveling overseas for a bit, going to Asia for a while, so I may or may not be able to update every week, but I will try my best! Reviews encourage me to write, so _please_, leave me reviews! And thank you to those who have been there since the beginning and read my story with every update! 3**

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><p>Sherlock and John eventually climbed out of bed. Sherlock's dorm was silent, everyone still fast asleep from the night before. John started to get dressed and Sherlock got out a towel for his shower. John was soon packed and ready to leave. He walked over to Sherlock who was clothed only by a sheet draped over his body. John looked him and and down, and sighed. "It's time for me to go."<p>

John suddenly flushed with panic. _How do I say goodbye to Sherlock? Do I kiss him? Is that too clingy for him? I'm too close to him to wave goodbye. Shake hands? Shake hands, John? Really? You can do better than that._John's face contorted with anxiety and a loss of what to do next. Sherlock looked down at John's face, reading the emotions like an open book.

"Please spare us both the awkwardness, John," Sherlock whispered in a low tone. His words had been direct, but not cruel or patronizing. "We are still the same people we were before we added... physicality."

John felt his shoulders lose their tension. He looked up at Sherlock, finding reassurance in his eyes.

"I guess I've spent so long denying these feelings that I find them hard to accept. Not just my feelings but yours too. I never expected you to reciprocate. We went from friends to... lovers(?) in one night, which is fine, more than fine actually. I just don't know how to proce-" Sherlock cut him off with a kiss. John felt Sherlock's sheet fall a little bit, and he placed his hands on Sherlock's bare chest, then slowly moved them around to his back so he would pull Sherlock closer. Sherlock ran his hands through John's short, sandy hair wanting to permanently create a memory of this feeling. The feeling of John close to him. The feeling of John's hair in his fingers. And the feeling that was building inside Sherlock.

They eventually broke apart, and John gave Sherlock a scolding look. "You need to stop cutting me off with kisses, as nice as they are." Sherlock looked through squinted, daring eyes. A hint of a smile was on his lips but he wasn't going to let it through. "No." John chuckled and shook his head as he pulled away from Sherlock.

As John was leaving Sherlock's room, Sherlock asked him to make sure the coast was clear so that he could dart down the hall in his sheet to take a shower. John walked slowly down the hall and passed by Sherlock's roommate's rooms. Loud snores were emitted by all. John nodded and whispered, "All clear." Sherlock picked up his sheet, making sure it covered everything in case someone happened to pop out of their room, and walked into the bathroom. John heard the water running as he left. As he reached the common room door, John had a change of heart. He dropped his stuff by the door and walked back to the bathroom. His veins felt as though the contained ice as he turned the doorknob. He didn't even allow himself to fear the possibility of being with Sherlock this time. He pushed the door open and closed it softly behind him, making sure to lock it. He dropped his trousers and pants and stripped off his jumper in swift, fluid motions. He walked up to the shower door and took a deep breath. He slowly slid the door open and Sherlock turned to see the source of the noise. He was surprised at first but smiled, inviting John in with him.

As John climbed in, Sherlock snickered, " I didn't expect yo-" It was John's turn to cut Sherlock off with a kiss. John forced Sherlock's head down to meet his, their mouths moving in sync. Sherlock pulled John closer, analyzing the feeling of a wet, naked John against him. He decided he liked that feeling. A lot. A warm tingling was starting to stir in his abdomen, threatening to move lower south. John's mouth moved to the sensitive skin of Sherlock's neck, biting softly as he kissed. Sherlock gasped at a slightly painful bite which only fueled John's intent. Their hips began to move together, creating friction as they fought for power. John moaned into Sherlock's neck as their wet bodies collided. The moan unraveled Sherlock, and feeling the overwhelming need for intimacy, he did everything he could to be touching John. His arms wrapped around John's back as Sherlock pulled him closer. Just when he thought they couldn't get any closer, John pulled Sherlock even nearer. The only thing separating them was a thin layer of water that managed to trickle in between.

An urgent rap on the door made them stop short. "Sherlock, I gotta take a leak! Let me in!" Sherlock looked down at John, who seemed to be frozen. Angry that their moment had been ruined, Sherlock snarled, "Go in the kitchen sink, I'm having a shower."

"I'm not going in the sink! Do you know how unsanitary that is? Please, just let me in!"

John felt as though his heart was jumping rope by the way it was pounding in his chest. He looked up at Sherlock, "What are we going to do?" Sherlock thought for a quick second and hopped out of the shower. He tossed John's clothes under his sheet to hide them and silently unlocked the door. He ran back into the shower and positioned John against the wall where he would be less visible. The shower stall was by no means clear, but it would be easy enough to spot two bodies instead of one through the opaque door. Counting on his roommate's urgency to urinate and possibly a hangover from the previous night's activities, Sherlock hoped he wouldn't be observant enough to notice the presence of an extra person.

"Fine! Come in. Make it quick."

"But it's locke-" Sherlock's roommate swung the door open with a startled gasp. "Thanks, Sherlock! I appreciate it, mate!"

John and Sherlock waited as the roommate urinated, John looking fear-stricken and Sherlock looking mildly amused. As he washed his hands he said a quick, "Thanks again!" and was gone. Sherlock tiptoed out of the shower and locked the door once more. When Sherlock reentered the shower, he found John half slumped over in relief. With a chuckle, Sherlock looked down at John, "Are you okay?"

John met Sherlock's gaze and could feel anger seeping into the adrenaline flow around his body. "How can you be so calm about this?" He stared angrily at Sherlock, who was still laughing, until he too broke down into hushed chuckles. "God! That was close!" Sherlock finished his shower while John contemplated why he enjoyed the roommate's intrusion so much. He finally decided that the pure adrenaline rush of being in the moment, so close to being caught but narrowly escaping is what made the impression on him. John doubted he would be an adrenaline junkie anytime soon, but being close to Sherlock convinced John that more, many more, episodes similar to this morning were yet to come.


	8. Chapter 8: Meeting Mycroft

With school finished, John and Sherlock were free to spend as much time together as they wanted, which was often. Sherlock found a flat close to John's house now that he no longer lived in residence. As they grew closer, John started to learn more about Sherlock. He had heard more of the mysterious Mycroft, but still didn't know who he was. He had asked once, but Sherlock had ignored the question with a silent warning not to push it. However, John had met Lestrade, and he began to help Sherlock on cases. And by help he means that he tags along and stands in awe as his boyfriend makes impressive conclusions. _Boyfriend. Sherlock Holmes, my boyfriend. _John watched Sherlock as he did his work, his face contorted in calculation. _God, he's perfect. How did I ever get him? _John waited patiently until they left the crime scene before he pulled Sherlock in roughly, kissing him with fervour. Sherlock was surprised at first, but smiled into John's lips.

"Not here, let's wait until we get back to my place."

"But…" John didn't want to wait. He wanted Sherlock here and now. He sighed heavily. "_Fine_." John pulled away.

"Don't pout, it doesn't suit you," Sherlock laughed. He stole a quick kiss from John. Sherlock's mood flipped from joking to serious instantly.

"Actually, I've got something I wanted to discuss with you, John."

John's heartbeat took off, worried at Sherlock's sudden change.

"And what is that?"

"Well I was thinking… my flat is so empty and I've grown quite accustomed to having flatmates over the school year..."

"Wait, are you asking me to move in with you, Sherlock?" John looked up at his boyfriend, who, for the first time since John met him, looked nervous.

"If you want to… I mean if you think it's a good idea?" Sherlock waited anxiously for John's reaction.

John frowned, but replied "Yes, I think that could work." His frown turned into a smile, and he pulled Sherlock towards him, giving him a deep kiss. A tingle went down to his crotch, a remnant of experiences past.

Sherlock hesitated. "You frowned."

"Sorry, what?" John pulled away.

"You frowned."

"When?"

"When I asked you to move in." John could hear Sherlock's patience waning. "Why did you frown? Do you not want to? Are you sur-"

"Sherlock! Of course I want to move in! I just thought about my parents, they still don't know about you, and I just worried for a second about telling them. But I want to move in with you more than I fear their reactions. I _want_ to be with you, you thick git."

Sherlock pulled him in for a kiss. This one was deep and meaningful. Not their everyday peck or their lustful, urgent kiss. This one was Sherlock's way of portraying his feelings for John. He put a hand on the small of John's back, pulling him in closer, his other hand behind John's neck. His lips moved slowly over John's, his hands tugged him as close as possible.

John felt weak all over. Sherlock had never kissed him like this before.

"Oh God, Sherlock."

Sherlock felt himself getting hot and pulled away, staring intently into John's eyes.

"John…" Sherlock couldn't find the words, but John knew.

"I know, Sherlock. Me too."

.:.

The wait between the crime scene and Sherlock's flat seemed a life time. John patience waned and he couldn't help himself in the cab as he stroked Sherlock's leg, slowly working his way to the inner thigh. Sherlock had seemed unaffected by the light touch, so John moved his hand closer and closer to Sherlock's crotch. He acted as though the touching was unconsciously done, something of habit instead of intent. Sherlock's lack of response had him convinced that his act was working. He 'absentmindedly' caressed the area, slowly moving up but never actually making it to Sherlock's bulge (which, out of the corner of John's eye, appeared to be growing a little bit. Sherlock's face, however, revealed nothing). As the cab grew close to Sherlock's flat, Sherlock placed his hand on John's, which effectively ended its movement. Placed is a bad choice of words. Sherlock _grabbed_ John's hand, which effectively ended its movement. John looked up at Sherlock and caught the look of desperation on his face, a strangled sense of need. _Fuck._

John felt himself grow hard just at the sight of Sherlock hot and bothered in the back seat of a cab, but he kept a straight, innocent face.

When they arrived at the building, the cabbie was paid and they went up the stairs. The minute they entered the flat, Sherlock shoved John against the wall so hard he almost knocked the breath out of him. He inhaled sharply. Sherlock pinned John there, holding his hands firmly so they couldn't escape.

"What was that fo-"

"Don't you _ever_ do that again." Sherlock looked down at John fiercely.

"I don't know what you're talking about," John replied too innocently.

"Yes, _you do_." Sherlock reached down and clamped down hard on John's erection, which made him cry out. "A little bit stiff for a normal cab ride home, don't you think?"

John couldn't answer; the painful pleasure that emitted from the rough touch was overwhelming his system. He was just able to nod slightly before Sherlock spoke again.

"That's what I thought." And with that, John was completely at Sherlock's mercy.

Sherlock forced his lips on John's, and they kissed urgently. John tried without success to regain the use of his hands so he could pull Sherlock closer. Sherlock laughed darkly.

"It's my turn to use hands, John. You've had your turn." John was barely able to stifle his moan.

Sherlock's free hand went down and started to rub John's erection through his trousers. Lightly at first but growing in pressure and speed. John started to thrust in rhythm with Sherlock's touch.

"Oh God, Sherlock."

Sherlock let John's hands go and they kissed again. As they snogged, John felt Sherlock tugging at his wrists, and when Sherlock finally broke the kiss, John realized that his hands were bound by Sherlock's scarf.

"Sherlock!"

"I told you, it's my turn." Sherlock looked at John with a sly smile. "And I don't think you're going to follow the rules unless I reinforce them."

If John wasn't so turned on, he might have been angry. Sherlock took the lack of response as a positive and forcibly took John to his room.

John hit the bed hard, but the impact felt good. Sherlock slowly undressed John and pulled his bound hands over the bedpost. Sherlock paused, double checking with a questioning expression that it was comfortable for John. With a small, eager nod from John, Sherlock continued.

John lay on the bed completely naked and unable to move. It made him nervous, watching Sherlock look at him. It reminded him of how anxious he was the first time, that one drunken night a few weeks previous. They had been intimate many times since then, becoming more comfortable with themselves and each other, but nothing like this.

Sherlock's long, slender fingers brushed down John's chest, stomach and legs. Goosebumps rose at the touch. Sherlock allowed his nails to drag along John's skin as he followed the path back up, which caused John to hiss.

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock chuckled deeply, but let off. He kissed John lightly but quickly moved down, sucking and teasing John's nipples. He worked his way south with kisses, hickies and small bites, but avoided John's agonizing erection. He spread John's legs and slowly kissed the insides of his calves and thighs. John squirmed as Sherlock would reach the area surrounding his crotch, but Sherlock wouldn't give him the satisfaction of attention. Sherlock gave John a purposeful look and laid one finger on John's inner thigh. He raised his finger so the nail would be the only contact with John's skin. He then imitated the patterns that John had used in the cab, slow but decisive, dragging his nail around the inside of John's tender thigh. John groaned at the feeling flowing up his spine; precum was leaking out of his cock.

"Bloody _fucking_ hell, Sherlock!"

Sherlock paid no attention but instead trapped John's legs under his, so that John was completely immobile, and continued to slide his nail around John's skin.

"_Please_… _Sherlock_…" John was panting now.

"Please what, John?" Sherlock looked down at John with a smirk, but didn't cease teasing.

"_Please fuck me_," John begged breathlessly.

Sherlock stopped touching John, and the trail where his finger had been burned on John's skin. "What?"

"I want you… to fuck me." John felt his face go red, and he felt ridiculous saying it.

"Are you sure?" Sherlock looked down at John. _His_ John. His _bound-to-the-bedpost_ John.

John chuckled lightly, "Yes."

Sherlock lowered himself onto John, bringing their faces next to each other.

"Well," Kiss. "If it's what you want…" Another kiss. "Who am I to deny you?" John felt a little patronized until he looked into Sherlock's eyes. Gone was the confidence, the wisdom and the arrogance. Replacing it was sincerity. Sherlock raised his hands and untied the scarf from around John's hands. Not wasting a minute of freedom, the hands worked away at Sherlock's clothing, removing first his shirt, then trousers, then pants.

Sherlock leaned over and retrieved a bottle of lube from the bedside table.

"You're going to need to spread your legs a little more." John complied easily and Sherlock applied a heavy dose of the lubricant. Sherlock's finger teased the hole, dipping in and out and encircling it. Deep, guttural moans came from John, which only fuelled Sherlock's movements. Sherlock slid a second finger in, which warranted groans from John. John cried out when the third finger was added.

"Oh, _GOD_! Sherlock!"

Sherlock paused at his outburst. "Is it okay? Am I hurting you?"

John had never seen Sherlock so concerned. "No, it's not bad." Sherlock didn't seem convinced. "I promise. I _want _this."

Sherlock put a large dose of the lubricant on his stiff cock and slowly inserted himself into John, pausing with each gasp and moan.

"Fuuuuck… _Sherlock_!"

Sherlock couldn't help but groan at the feeling of John tight around him. He slowly withdrew and pushed back in. Sherlock analysed the feeling of being with John. Not just the physical feeling that was overwhelming his body, but the emotional feeling of intimacy. It was good, more than good. He never wanted it to change.

With each of Sherlock's thrusts, John got closer and closer to coming. Then Sherlock hit his prostate.

"Oh, _fuck_! Right there, Sherlock! _Ohhhh, God_."

Sherlock continued to thrust, gaining speed and arousal. John's moans were almost constant now, only interrupted by the occasional panted, "_Sherlock_!"

Sherlock wrapped his hand around John's weeping cock and began to pump. John fell silent, and Sherlock looked down at him to see his mouth wide open, eyes closed. John made a throaty noise and came on Sherlock, who kept thrusting through the convulsions. Having John around him and watching him cum sent Sherlock over the edge. With a final thrust, he came in John, moaning his name loudly as he did. They stayed intertwined long enough to catch their breath then crawled into bed together. Right before they fell asleep, Sherlock looked lazily at John. He was perfect. Just as he had been before he climaxed. His hair was everywhere, his cheeks were rosy and his face was completely blissful. Sherlock never wanted to forget that moment, and he pulled John closer, hoping to permanently set it in his memory.

.:.

John walked home from Sherlock's flat. His head was in the clouds as he considered the thought of _living with_ Sherlock, and how repeats of the past afternoon could happen as often as they wanted. John thought back to the time he wasted dating Jeanette. As far as women went, Jeanette was one that interested John the most. Men still had no effect on John, except for Sherlock. It still confused John, his love for Sherlock. The more he tried to understand it, the less it made sense. Sherlock was an anomaly and could never be compared to anything John had experienced.

As John strolled down the street, a sleek black car pulled up next to him. He wouldn't have noticed, but they called his name.

"John Watson."

"Huh? Yea, that's me." John was startled. _How do they know my name?_

"You have to come with me, Mr Watson."

"Who are you?"

"I'm a messenger for a friend who has a vested interest in Sherlock Holmes."

"Oh, that clears everything up," John retorted sarcastically and kept walking.

"Mr Watson, I'm afraid I can't let you leave. You have to come with me."

"And what happens if I don't?" John's gusto grew.

"You will come either by choice or by force."

"Fine," John sighed heavily as though it was a huge inconvenience to go with the stranger. In reality his heartbeat was going a million miles a minute and he felt sick. John climbed into the car with shaky legs, hoping no one would notice.

The car ride was less than 30 minutes and the destination was an abandoned house on the other side of town. It was shabby and run-down, and John was sure that this was the end for him. He was lead inside and delivered to a slender, ginger-haired man with a sickening smile.

"Ah, John! Nice to meet you!" John recoiled at the voice. It was too sweet, as was the smile. The man started toward him with an extended hand, all the while keeping his piercing eye contact.

John didn't return a hand and the man eventually dropped his.

"Who are you and why have you brought me here?" John didn't break the eye contact despite feeling completely uncomfortable.

"Let's just say that I'm a friend, a friend with a keen concern for Sherlock."

"If that's true, why am I here and not him? What do you want with me?"

"He seems to have taken an interest in you, John. I'm curious to know why. And you may be useful in helping me." Something about the mystery man turned John off. He couldn't tell if it was the unchanging face the man wore – looking slightly amused even though it didn't suit their current situation at all – or how everything sounded condescending without effort. Maybe it was a mixture of both?

"Why would I help you? I don't know you at all."

"Ah, you're a loyal one. His last pet, The Woman, always got mixed up with the wrong people. Difficult one, she was. And Moriarty, God, he was one hell of a- well, that's another story." The man's face dropped a little at the memory, but quickly resumed its previous expression. John stood firm, refusing to react to the new information and give the man satisfaction. _Sherlock will tell me about his past when he's ready. _

"So why do you have me here…?"

"Well, as you know, Sherlock has become more involved with Scotland Yard and an Inspector Lestrade… I want to make sure he remains safe. He wouldn't voluntarily give me information about his life, so I was hoping that you might."

John chuckled a dark, humourless laugh. "No. Why would I give that to you?"

"Because I am genuinely concerned about him."

"Have you met Sherlock? No one cares about him, excluding me. Anyways, I don't even know who you are!"

"My name is Mycroft."

"Ah, yes. He's mentioned you."

"Really?" The man's face seemed genuinely surprised and possibly a little pleased.

"Don't get too excited," John replied sharply. "Nothing impressive enough to make me want to help you."

"But you must understand the importance of my being informed."

"I _must understand_ nothing! Just because he has muttered your name a few times doesn't mean I will join your 'team' and rat out my boyfriend!" Mycroft's face crumpled a bit despite obvious effort to remain unaffected.

"You're _dating_ Sherlock? And he _hasn't told you_ who I am?" The sly cat-playing-with-its-mouse look had disappeared from Mycroft's face. He just looked tired now that he had lost the upper hand. "I'm Mycroft Holmes. I'm his brother."

John was taken aback._ Sherlock has a brother?_

"Well, I'm sorry but he hasn't mentioned you in that respect. I'm not going to help you. I want to go home, if you would kindly call the car for me, I would appreciate it." John turned and started to walk away from Mycroft without really knowing where he was headed.

"John, I am honestly trying to look out for him."

John didn't reply as he exited the house. He found the black car waiting out front and directed it to his house.

Once he was home he texted Sherlock.

**We need to talk. –JW**

The response was almost immediate.

**Ooh, ominous. About what? –SH**

**Your brother. –JW**

**Oh, him. What about him? –SH**

**Maybe the fact that you didn't tell me about him? Or that he kidnapped me on my way home? –JW**

**Fine, if we must. Come over in 10? –SH**

**See you soon. –JW**

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><p>My apologies that this took so long to upload! I made it a suuuper long chapter to make up for the delay :) I will be writing more often now! I have the next few chapters (semi) planned out, so things will be moving forward.<strong> Reviews are <em>ALWAYS<em> appreciated (and _very_ encouraging for my incentive to write)! :D**


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